Custard Tarts and Broken Hearts (36 page)

‘Are you Nellie Clark?’ the boy eventually managed to pant out.

She replied that she was and he delivered his message between heaving breaths. ‘I’ve come from Lily at the chandler’s shop. She said, can you come quick. She’s fallen down the stairs and thinks the baby’s coming!’

Nellie pulled the boy inside and stood him in front of the fire. All matchboxes were dropped, as the family followed his story. The boy was employed to do odd jobs around the chandler’s shop. Lily’s in-laws had gone out and the boy had been charged with watching the shop for the afternoon.

‘I heard this almighty clatter in the yard and when I run out to see what it was, Lily’s gone down the stairs!’ The poor boy’s eyes were wide as saucers.

‘Why didn’t she send you to her mum’s?’ Nellie was throwing on her coat.

‘She did. I run all the way there, but no one was home! She said to come to you next.’

Nellie took charge. ‘All right now, you stay here and catch your breath, then on your way back, you knock for Mrs Bosher again, she can’t have gone far. Al, give him a penny and a cup of tea. Can I trust you lot to finish the boxes?’

The little audience, squashed round the table, nodded in unison. The drama unfolding before them had for once stunned them to silence.

‘I’m off – I’ll take the penny-farthing, it’ll be quicker. I’ll be back as soon as I can, but go to bed if I’m late!’ she ordered as she launched herself out of the back door. She trotted the penny-farthing out into the icy fog and flung herself on to the saddle. Sam had fitted a lamp on the front handlebars, and she was glad of it now. She couldn’t afford to be run down by a hansom or a motor bus tonight!

By the time she finally turned into the chandler’s back yard she was damp through with sweat and freezing fog penetrating her clothes. She removed the bicycle lamp, shining it through the thick mist. She could see no light on in Lily’s upstairs rooms, the shop or the McBrides’ home.

‘Where the bloody hell is everyone?’ she called out. ‘Lily, where are you, love?’

A tremulous voice called back from the bottom of the steep flight of stairs that led up to Lily’s home. Nellie rushed to her friend’s side.

‘Oh, Lil, don’t tell me you’ve been stuck here all this time. Why didn’t you go in the McBrides’?’

Lily raised a pale face. ‘I’ve twisted me ankle, I can’t get up!’ she wailed.

‘All right, shhh, love, I’m here now, we’ll get you up.’

Summoning a strength she didn’t know she had, she put Lily’s arm over her shoulder, grasped under her other arm and heaved. Lily’s little boots slipped and scraped on the slick cobbles. Nellie strained, then, taking all Lily’s weight, managed to haul her upright.

‘All right, love, my dad always did say us Clark women was tough as coal heavers – here we go!’

Nellie lifted her friend like a sack of coal. Bending forward, she tottered under her weight towards the McBrides’ back door. Nellie kicked at it and it swung open. Using the last of her strength, she got Lily through the back scullery and into the McBrides’ kitchen, where she lowered her on to a chair.

‘Thank God there’s some embers.’ She glanced towards the grate. ‘Let’s get a fire going.’ Nellie knelt down and pulled out the damper, adding coal from the bucket at the hearth. Then she pulled off the kitchen tablecloth, wrapping it round a frozen Lily, whose teeth were chattering with cold.

‘I’m scared, Nellie. I think the baby’s coming and there was no one home, I didn’t know what to do. Where’s me mum?’ She burst into tears, sobbing and shaking.

‘She was out, love, but I’ve sent the boy to wait for her. Where’s your interfering in-laws when you need ’em, though?’

Lily managed a laugh. ‘I’ll never hear the last of it, will I? It was those soddin’ stairs! I’d ’ave been all right if it wasn’t for the mist. They was slippery as a bowl of eels. Ooohhhh!’

She clutched her stomach and Nellie remembered her mother’s various labours. She knew she had a bit of time. ‘Where’s your midwife live? I think I’d better get her.’

Lily clutched her hand. ‘Can’t you wait till someone else gets home – I got so scared out there on me own, I kept thinking, what if I’ve killed me baby?’ And she resumed her sobbing.

‘Don’t be such a soppy cow – your baby’s fine, he just wants to come out and see what all the fuss is about! But, Lil, I don’t think we can wait any longer. I’ll be back in a jiff.’

Mrs Turner, the old lady who supervised all the births in Rotherhithe Street, lived only a few doors away, so Nellie didn’t have to run far. The old woman was not at all disconcerted by Nellie’s story and seemed to take a delight in gathering her things at a snail’s pace.

‘She’s been out in the freezing cold for over an hour!’ Nellie tried to convey the urgency.

‘You run back, dear, get some hot water on and find me some clean linen, will you? I’ll be along shortly.’

Nellie, exasperated, shot off, glad to be doing something. Mrs Turner sauntered in fifteen minutes later, by which time Nellie had boiled kettles and raided the McBrides’ linen cupboard.

Finally, when half an hour later the McBrides appeared, with Betty Bosher and the shop boy, Nellie faced a barrage of questions, but the parents seemed incapable of taking in the situation. The little kitchen was full to bursting and so was Lily, suddenly letting out one long howl, which finally galvanized Mrs Turner into action.

‘Come on, this is like Casey’s Court. Will someone help me get the poor girl to the bedroom?’

Helped by the two men, Lily was installed in the spare bedroom, next to the kitchen. Nellie followed them in, squeezing Lily’s hand as she asked gently, ‘You be all right now, love?’

Lily nodded. ‘Thanks, Nell, you’re my angel!’

‘Funny sort of angel, me, on a penny-farthing!’

She left her friend in good hands and after making the two sets of parents cups of tea left them still discussing those stairs. Lily was right, she never would hear the last of it!

Frank Morgan had given Eliza directions, but once she found herself in the right vicinity, she merely followed her nose. He’d told her Vauban Street ran off Spa Road, not far from Pearce Duff’s. That vanilla scent told her exactly where she was. She passed the factory gates and looked up at the glowing windows; the factory was lit up now for the night shift. Peeking in through the ground-floor windowpanes, she could see the sills thick with golden powder and beyond them rows of women bending over the powder machines. It satisfied her to know they were considerably better off for her efforts of three years ago. How she had fought for those women! She doubted any of them would recognize her now but all the same she hurried on past; she preferred her anonymity. The area looked shabbier than she’d remembered it; perhaps back then she’d viewed it through the eyes of her own triumph. On this fog-draped night it looked drear and down at heel. She passed the Salvation Army; lines of shuffling men still queued in hopes of a bed. Skirting round them, she was assaulted by the aroma of unwashed bodies. Did Matty have to walk past them every day? She passed a public house, just as the door was flung open; from inside came a fug of smoke and a flare of light. A drunk tumbled out, held up by a woman who was haranguing him.

‘That’s all yer good for,’ she bellowed into his insensible ear, ‘pissin’ it all up the wall, while the kids are indoors starvin’ ’ungry!’

The woman dropped the man and gave him a well-aimed kick, brushing past Eliza. Looking for somewhere to vent her anger, she shouted at her. ‘And if you’re one o’ them Band of ’opers you can sling yer hook. He’s signed the pledge hundred times and look at ’im!’

Eliza mumbled some useless words of sympathy and scurried on. At the next corner she sniffed, as the unmistakable smell of boiling bones reached her through the fog. She knew there was a glue works near by; how could she have forgotten? Bermondsey wasn’t all strawberry jam and spices. The delicate Matty of her imagination wouldn’t flourish here, not at all. She turned into Vauban Street, a long row of closely packed terrace houses that had seen better days. The house where Nellie Clark lived was directly next door to a carter’s stable yard. The smell of horse dung wafted past her as she hesitated on the doorstep. She hadn’t planned what she would say, and for the moment she just wanted to know that Matty was safe and well cared for. Her knock was answered almost immediately by a bird-boned young girl of about fifteen. Her look of surprise told Eliza she had been expecting someone else, but she was polite enough, once Eliza explained she had business with Nellie.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, madam, she’s not home, but I can give her a message—’

‘I’m afraid I must speak to her tonight,’ Eliza interrupted in her most cultured and persuasive tone. She would not be put off.

The girl hesitated, then asked her to come in. ‘You’ll have to excuse the mess, Nellie was called away sudden and we’re in a bit of a two an’ eight tonight.’

She was shown into a tiny front kitchen, filled with children, crowded round a square deal table covered in matchboxes in various states of assembly. There was a huge glue pot in the centre, containing several dripping brushes, the smell so pungent it made her light-headed. The fire in the range, coupled with the many bodies in the room, gave off a heat that was too stark a contrast to the cold outside and she staggered to one side, suddenly overcome with faintness.

The young girl hurried to her side and, with surprising strength, guided her to the only spare chair in the room. ‘Bobby, get the lady a drop of water, quickly!’

She was aware of a skinny boy darting from the table to the scullery, and then of a cup being put to her lips.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said between sips. ‘I’ve had a long journey and I’m just a little chilled. I’ll be all right.’

The girl introduced herself as Alice, Nellie’s sister, and then, excusing the mess again, she explained they were finishing some home work. For the first time Eliza had a chance to look properly round the table. On one side sat the skinny little boy, dressed in what looked like hand-me-downs far too big for him; next to him was a well-built youth who, in contrast, had grown out of all his heavily darned clothes. At the end was her brother Charlie, wearing a collarless shirt, sleeves rolled up. He carefully replaced a glue brush into the pot and looked through her, without any sign of acknowledgement. Turned away from Eliza sat a young girl with auburn curls flowing down her back. Matty, after twisting her head briefly to see who the intruder was, quickly looked away and continued her work of glueing labels on to the box sides. All Eliza could see were Matty’s small hands, covered in a raw rash, deftly dipping and pasting, dipping and pasting. She was horrified. It seemed obvious that Nellie Clark was running a sweatshop and there was her daughter, just as she had feared, a rose among thorns.

Nellie took the penny-farthing straight round to her back yard. The fog had grown even denser and her ride home had been slow and frightening. Hansom cabs and horse-drawn buses were upon her before she knew it, the warning clip-clop of horses’ hooves dulled by the fog. Even motor-car lamps seemed unable to cut through the soaking yellow miasma swirling about the riverside streets. She was bone-tired and grateful to be home. She had on her father’s old mackintosh, her old work boots and a flat cap covering her hair, which had frizzed up alarmingly in the fog. She dreaded finding a messy kitchen, still full of matchboxes and glue pots.

‘I’m back and I hope you lot have finished that bloody home work!’ she called out.

She stopped short at the doorway. The sight of Eliza James sitting in her front kitchen, being ministered to by Alice and stared at by a table full of children, was more than she could take in.

‘Madam Mecklenburgh!’ The nickname was out of her mouth before she knew it. ‘Oh, sorry… Mrs James…’

Eliza waved away her apology, but Nellie could see she was not happy. The woman looked ill; perhaps it was the heat of the kitchen, but her face looked feverish and the cup she held in her hand shook slightly. As she tried to stand up and tottered, Alice caught her.

‘Thank you, Alice, I’m not quite myself.’

Alice took Nellie’s mackintosh, while Matty gave Nellie her chair, kissing her cheek as she did so and offering to make her a cup of tea.

‘Thanks, Matty, love. Mrs James looks like she could do with one too.’

Matty gave Eliza a cold stare and went to the scullery to fill the kettle. Nellie remembered that night she’d first met Matty, when Nellie had been the intruding stranger and had to suffer the same mistrustful stares. Matty was fiercely protective of her family circle and, weary as she was, Nellie felt slightly irritated with Eliza for upsetting her. Apart from missing Sam, Matty had settled in happily to her new surroundings. Nellie hoped Eliza wasn’t about to throw a spanner in the works. She couldn’t imagine why the woman had turned up now with no warning. She certainly couldn’t have picked a worse time, and looking round at the state of the kitchen she doubted Eliza had formed a good opinion of her household so far.

She decided not to apologize, but asked politely, ‘What brings you back to Bermondsey, Mrs James? I thought you were in Australia.’

‘Nellie, I have to speak my mind.’ Eliza, seeming to gather strength, burst out, ignoring Nellie’s question, ‘I’m not sure if you know of my connection with Charlie and Matty, but I am their sister and I strongly object to the conditions you’re keeping them in! This is sweated work! I’ve fought my entire life to stop this sort of slavery and I will not have my family involved in it! I don’t know how Sam could think of leaving them with someone as irresponsible as you, but I won’t have it!’

Nellie felt the combined intake of breath in the room, as the boys’ eyes widened and grew eager, just as they did when they gathered round a street fight. Matty, who was bringing in the tea, overheard Eliza’s last remark, and stood, cups in hand, hesitating in the doorway.

Alice’s fear-filled eyes were locked on to Nellie’s. Perhaps if she had spent an easier day, Nellie’s response might have been more diplomatic, but she’d had enough. Eliza, in spite of her agitation, was an imposing figure, carrying an air of authority acquired over years of public speaking, as she sat there in her fine clothes, talking in that carefully doctored accent, but Nellie was not to be over-awed in her own kitchen. She stood up and for once in her life she was glad she’d inherited her father’s strong frame, rather than the bird-like bones of her mother.